


Clubland

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pretentious, Run-On Sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-26
Updated: 2005-07-26
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: And it's not enough, never enough to be a good bloke, a second best friend,redundant, useless, boring, nice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wildestranger.

Remus thinks maybe the firewhisky is a bad idea, but he drinks and drinks and drinks until James takes it away, because it's the only way he can watch Sirius dance through the club, slip and glide and dip through the hands that grab and try to hold him, like angry, hungry spiders spinning webs. But holding Sirius is like holding water, holding starlight--the tighter Remus squeezes, the less of Sirius he has in his hands, and he's never had much, never as much as he's wanted, even with the occasional drunken kiss, warm, red lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, tasting of firewhisky and crisps and, _You're a good bloke, Moony, you are._ And it's not enough, never enough to be a good bloke, a second best friend, _redundant, useless, boring, nice._

He rises on unsteady legs, and James tries to help him, but he pushes him away with a snarled curse and makes his way across the dance floor, aiming for the men's room in the back. He knows what goes on in there, wants to partake of that type of oblivion, warm, willing mouth wrapped around his prick and sucking until he can't remember his own name, but he always remembers _Sirius_ and sometimes he even says it, _Sirius_ , and it doesn't matter because no one else knows or cares, and no one ever says, _Remus_ at that moment, and sometimes he's afraid no one ever will.

Hands grab for him as he passes, long, elegant fingers that know him and he turns, drawn inexorably into Sirius's wake, his orbit, this bright star who can only burn so long before flaming out, and he wonders if Sirius knows, Sirius must know and that's why he lives the way he does, as if he'll never have enough time to do everything he wants to do and Sirius wants to do everything and Remus wants to do it with him, and he lets himself be moved by Sirius's hands and the press of his thigh between his legs, and the room is spinning, the lights are flashing, and Remus thinks maybe the firewhisky was a bad idea, because he will have only vague memories of this in the morning when he wakes up curled around an empty bed that smells of Sirius and sex and cigarettes, tiny holes burned in the sheets as they laugh and smoke afterwards and kiss lazily, hungrily in the grey light of dawn before Sirius leaves, but for now it makes him loose enough to sway along and mad enough to follow through and when Sirius takes a sip of whatever it is he's drinking and seals his lips over Remus's to share, Remus swallows it down, swallows him down and begs for more, and though he's never believed in Divination he thinks he's just got a taste of what the night will bring, and he lets Sirius lead him out into the darkness.


End file.
